


A Christmas to Forget

by akford



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Animated Series, Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Bones and Scotty have seen things, Chekov is a leetle shit, Drunk Spock, Fluff, Hanukkah, Humor, M/M, Making bets, Sulu is uncomfortable, Winter Holiday Party, christmas on the enterprise, crew pov, drunk kirk, spirk, taking bets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-10-01 22:34:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20426798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akford/pseuds/akford
Summary: A cute little winter holiday fic in August! Chekov thinks their Captain and First Officer are going at it, and Sulu thinks he's finally going to win a bet. He’s wrong, obviously.-I intend on creating and posting a companion piece of art for this sometime in the next week or so!Also I'm going to be at KiScon this year! Comment if you're going, or even if you're not, I'd love to get to know some people in fandom!!





	A Christmas to Forget

“Hikaru,” Chekov said, taking a sip of his champagne languorously, “what do you say ve play a little Christmas game?” 

Sulu looked over at Chekov. He’d only worked with the guy for a few weeks but it was time enough that Sulu knew his “little games” often involved credits and other people’s business. That is, Sulu’s credits and other people’s business. Chekov had his eyes on the Captain and Mr. Spock. The Captain was lighting the eighth candle on the _hanukkiyah_ on the table and Spock was watching, hands clasped behind his back. The Captain was out of uniform, wearing a red holiday sweater with distracting patterns, and the First Officer wore a simple (if a bit drab for Sulu’s tastes) sweater knit from Vulcan material. Some other members of the crew were gathered around the table as well, all watching the ceremonial lighting. Chekov glanced over at him, waiting for a reply.

“I don’t know, Chekov,” he said. “Your games always leave me a little light in the pockets.”

Chekov grinned, a cheeky smile that promised his intentions with this game were much the same as usual. “And still you never learn, do you?” 

Sulu had to admit it; he didn’t. Everything Chekov came up with was completely outrageous and Sulu never saw it coming, even though Chekov ended up being right 90% of the time. It started with small things like guessing what Scotty would have for lunch on a given day, or whenever Janice would huff and start telling the Captain something about taking care of himself, Chekov would predict down to the last word (or silence) what the Captain’s response would be. 

Then Chekov started predicting which crew members would go down on a landing party, which he guessed correctly every time (the Captain, Mr. Spock, Dr. McCoy frequented his guesses, but he threw in total curveballs and obscure positions like Lieutenant Denver from life support tech, or Ensign Cho from Auxiliary that totally hit their mark). Sulu had a sneaking suspicion that Chekov had a micro-computer chip in his ear, taking in information and relaying outputs constantly. The kid was brilliant. 

The most impressive thing Sulu had seen Chekov do since he was brought on board was guess which earrings Uhura would wear each day for a whole week. Sulu even did some of his own digging to make sure Chekov wasn’t using her to get credits out of him but she didn’t have a clue what he was talking about; he even got Ensign Tarrows to check out Chekov’s computer trails and the findings corroborated Uhura’s innocence. Sulu had kept an eye out for any pattern she might be following, but there wasn’t one. Different earrings, different days of the week.

“I haf a sinker for you, Hikaru,” Chekov said. He was still staring at the command team. The Captain had moved to light the rest of the candles with the _shamash_ and everyone around the table seemed to be smiling or whispering quietly to themselves. The Captain’s face was visible and he was happily smiling at the First Officer whose back was to them. “Do you sink ze Keptin and our First Officer are pickling ze prime meridian?”

Sulu stared. 

“Planting ze parsnip?”

Sulu continued to stare.

“Skinning ze cat? Shrimping ze barbie? Taking ze bald-headed gnome for a stroll in ze misty forest?”

Sulu shook his head. “Chekov did your tiny little head-computer get water in the wiring?”

Chekov let his shoulders fall and gave a hefty sigh. “Do you sink ze Keptin and Mr. Spock are bandicooting?” he whispered, exasperation dripping from his clenched teeth. Sulu recoiled.

“_You think the Captain and Mr. Spock are banging_?!” He whispered. Chekov put his hand on Sulu’s shoulder to lead him away from the middle of the room where their fellow crew members were celebrating the final night of _Hanukkah._

“Not so loud, Hikaru,” he said. “But you are getting it. Kare to bet?” Chekov’s face had taken on that sly look again, and if Sulu hadn’t been so shocked at the mere mention of something so appalling, he would have started worrying.

“Now _that’s_ one bet I’ll take with confidence,” he said. The Russian beside him smiled smugly. “I’m not gonna let you ruin my Christmas with such a ridiculous notion.”

“So, how about ve do… fifty credits?” 

“Nu-uh,” Sulu said. “We’re not doing this just you and me. We’re getting bridge crew in on this, and when you lose, Chekov,” here Sulu grasped Chekov’s outstretched hand, “You’re gonna owe a lot of people a lot of credits.”

“You never learn, Hikaru,” Chekov said, shaking Sulu’s hand. “You never learn.”

Uhura was standing beside Miss Chapel at the table with refreshments, watching her long-legged friend smile and laugh at a joke she’d just told her. It was so nice to see her friend smile, and it felt nice that she was the one to get her to do it. Uhura was so taken with the way Christine’s hair was done up tonight and the blush rising on her pale cheeks that she didn’t even see Ensign Chekov walk over to them. 

“Hello, ladies,” he said, putting on a charming smile. Uhura knew better; the green crew member standing in front of them was the sneakiest she had ever worked with. “Kare to share in my Christmas spirit?” Chekov motioned around them at the room.

The Christmas spirit was in full swing. There were honest to god pine boughs gracing the walls, courtesy of Sulu and Lt. Sayre. They had been growing them in the botany lab for the past three months! But other holidays were also being celebrated on the ship. A menorah was lit and surrounded by latkes and traditional Jewish drinks. Lt. M’Ress was opening a small present from a science officer Uhura wasn’t familiar with, and the same officer was reading what looked to be a handwritten letter on papyrus, no doubt entailing beautiful, heartfelt Caitian words of loyalty and affection. The room was almost vibrating with the positivity of the holiday spirit.

Christine turned to face Chekov fully. Her hands were crossed neatly in front of her, and her face wore a calm expression. “Well, Mr. Chekov, if you care to share what that might mean I can give you a good answer,” she said.

Chekov gave a farce little chuckle, with a fake batting of eyelashes to complete the look. “Miss Chapel, I vould be happy to oblige.”

Uhura watched as Chekov clasped his hands behind his back and swung his head to face her. She gave him an eyebrow and a smile that said, _you’re not fooling me, mister._ Christine waited patiently with her eyebrows raised.

“Sulu and I haf vorked out little betting system for ze evening. Ve are betting on important matter, and I am kollecting votes.”

“Another one of your betting games? And Sulu is still betting against you?” Uhura asked. After that one week where they bet on what Jewelry she’d wear each day (Uhura had frantically checked her vanity and her entire cabin for some sort of recording device, and when she came up empty-handed decided to be just as impressed as Mr. Sulu) she was wary of his ‘leetle’ betting games.

“_Da_, he sinks zis is ze time he vill finally vin credits from me.” 

Christine was smiling again, and she perched her hip against the side of the table. “Well, let’s hear it. What has Mr. Sulu bet against this time?”

Chekov brought his hand up in front of him, inspecting his nails nonchalantly. “I believe zat ze Keptain and Mr. Spock are boinking, shall ve say?” Uhura choked on the cracker she had just put in her mouth to chew. Christine was a little distracted by the Ensign’s statement, but she put her hand on Uhura’s back regardless. Uhura swallowed down the dry crumbs painfully, blinking up at the cheeky little Russian.

Privately, she had been wondering on the subject for months. The position of her console on the bridge gave her a perfect view of the Captain’s chair and the science station. She saw a lot of the looks that passed between the two men, and a lot of the looks that her Captain threw at Spock’s back, and all the times that Spock went to stand beside his Captain for no particular reason. The way they protected each other on missions it was hard not to feel as though there was some deep connection there, whether it was platonic or not. 

Before James Kirk had been given the Enterprise and her Captaincy, Uhura had worked with Mr. Spock for long enough to understand (or if not understand, at least recognize) his behaviors and the way that he went about things. He was a man of routine and professionalism. 

A few months after James Kirk came on board and Spock had made subtle changes to his routine, making room for chess in the rec room and long conversations walking aimlessly through the decks with his Captain. Uhura had been delighted that Mr. Spock had finally made a friend, but another few months went by and some of the looks that her Captain gave her Commanding Officer struck her as rather flirtatious. He was naturally a very charming man, of course, but Uhura wondered if it was more than that. 

At least, she believed it was on Captain Kirk’s side of things. Even now, from across the room, Uhura could see Mr. Spock handing a latke to the Captain, and the latter was taking it enthusiastically, engaged in conversation with the former, eyes bright and a soft smile gracing his face.

Christine hadn’t moved her hand from Uhura’s back, and Uhura looked over at her friend. She was still staring at Chekov. The poor thing had it bad for their first officer, and it wasn’t really a secret, but Chekov was still new to the bridge crew, and he hadn’t worked with Christine as much as some of the rest of them. Chekov was still talking. 

“So vat do you say? Kare to place your bets?”

Uhura straightened her back and looked Mr. Chekov in the eye. “Young man, we’ll play none of your nosy games. It’s Christmas!” She said, motioning around, looking at the Multi-Holiday Party that had been set up in the rec room. “There’s no room for that kind of _upuuzi_!” 

Chekov had the decency to duck his head away and lift his hands in surrender, but that didn’t wipe that impish grin off his face even for a second.

“_Khorosho, khorosho_,” he said placatingly. Uhura rolled her eyes and gave his shoulder a playful push on his way past them, no doubt to find some other crew member to bet with. She looked back at Christine, who was turning back to the table and looking for a carrot stick silently. Uhura took her elbow in both of her hands and the taller woman looked at her sheepishly.

“Come on, Christine. I have something sparkly for you, all wrapped in a pretty bow. Let’s go see if we can’t find it under the Christmas Bough.”

Bones was sitting in a nice, soft, comfortable armchair, finishing off a dram of special malt that Scotty had gifted him for the Holiday. Scotty was still on shift, participating in what he called his “Scottish Christmas.” Apparently, the Scotts weren’t accustomed to taking personal days.

From his vantage, Bones could see all the Alpha crew members participating in their holiday traditions with their friends, partaking in holiday indulgences like replicated hams, cookies with too much icing to be of any interest to him; he even saw a few dishes that looked like they were made with real ingredients. If he was of any mind, he might head on over there and have some, just to taste real food again. 

He noticed even Spock, the almighty tight cheek himself, was drinking a chocolate gelt. Good for him. If he could loosen up during the holiday season then there was hope. He wasn’t all that surprised to see Jim holding one too. Before Hanukkah had officially started, Jim had made a comment about festivities being the time to join in on old traditions. He seemed pretty intent on getting Spock to as well. The gleam in his eyes when he looked at Spock made Bones roll his eyes and go back to his own drink, wishing they would _get a room already._

Bones continued to survey the party, his typical cynical facial expression working as a buffer for unwelcome social interaction. But apparently, Mr. Chekov was oblivious to this method of anti-socialism because he waltzed on over regardless. He was new to the Alpha shift bridge crew and therefore was unaccustomed to Bones ways, but one of these days, Chekov would learn.

“Doctor, I kome vith gifts,” the boy said. He held two glasses of Vodka. Bones lifted his own glass and waved his free hand.

“I’m okay without that Russian poison,” he said. Chekov shrugged as if he was unoffended, and downed one of the drinks, setting the other on the table sitting beside Bones’ chair.

“_Niet_ problem.” Chekov crossed his arms and stared down at the Chief Medical Officer. “You are impatient man, so I am getting straight to it,” he said. Well, maybe he had picked up a thing or two about the old country doctor after all.

“Much appreciated. I have a bottle of Scottish Whisky waiting for me over by the refreshments and I’m almost ready to head on over there to refill my glass.”

“I am taking bets.”

“I’m not interested.”

Chekov’s hands flew into the air, losing his cool momentarily. “But Doctor! You have not heard what it is I am taking bets for!”

“Still not interested.”

Chekov crossed his arms in front of him once again, eyeing Bones with a reproachful smile. “Zat is such shame,” he started, a boy’s grin lighting up his face. “I am sinking you are in position to be particularly good at zis betting.”

“And why is that, Mr. Chekov?” Even if Bones wasn’t gonna entertain the idea of actually placing a bet, he could hear it out. He wasn’t much for ship’s gossip, but there was already a precedent set for the night, and not to indulge on such an occasion would be a perfectly good opportunity missed.

Chekov’s smile widened into something a bit more genial. “Vell, I am glad you asked.” Bones rolled his eyes. “See, I am arguing vith Sulu, and ve are voting about relationship betveen Keptain and Mr. Spock. Zat is, zat zere is somezing more going on betveen zem. Or not.”

Bones gulped, suddenly remembering too many times where he’d been around the two in private, with their little looks (or little not-looks, if Spock being _too_ focused was any indication of affection, which he believed it _was_) and their subtle brushing up against each other. He could’ve sworn that he heard Spock call him some Vulcan pet name once, but since he wasn’t any scholar of Vulcan language, he couldn’t exactly prove it, and he definitely couldn’t have repeated the word to Uhura if he’d tried. 

The way those two acted around each other (around _him_ even!) was just unsavory. God, they could at least _try_ to be subtle about it, but now their crew was suspicious and he was being subjected to their relationship even when they _weren’t_ around and how dare they ruin his Christmas party?

“Chekov, I think I’ll take you up on that Vodka now,” Bones said with a green face and picked up the little glass to down it in one go. “And don’t even think I’m gonna go down _that_ rabbit hole.”

Sulu had been ambling around the party for the last fifteen minutes trying to get up the courage to take bets from some of their crew members, but every time he saw someone and got chatting, he couldn’t bring himself to ruin their holiday spirit with talk of their commanding officer’s _planting parsnips_. Sometimes, Sulu wasn’t sure himself how he got along with Chekov at all. 

So he found himself sighing loudly at the food spread out on the buffet table. Empty plate in his hand, he halfheartedly searched for the fried chicken he’d requested for the holiday food spread. Ahh, there it was. Stabbing a piece on the end of his fork he plopped it onto his plate, searching for something else that might strike his stomach’s fancy. And who should appear but Scotty, with his own plate and an eager look about him as he picked up this and that from the holiday spread.

“Hey there, lad,” he said, giving a polite and quick nod to Sulu. Sulu caught sight of Chekov behind the Scotsman and received a thumbs up from the eager ensign. Sulu averted his stare to the hungry Lt. Commander and Sulu’s own stomach sunk at the thought of talking to Scotty on the subject of their Captain and First Officer. 

“Hey there, Scotty,” Sulu tried, but his throat felt dry and he couldn’t quite look away in time for Scotty to look up and see him staring. The engineer’s hands paused, poised over the turkey, a spoonful of stuffing halfway to his plate.

“Aye, what is it? Have I got something on me face?”

“Oh, no, Sir, not at all,” Sulu assured him, almost losing his grip on his own plate of food and trying to save it before the chicken could fall into the bowl of _whatever that was._ “I’m just -- I have, um, -- I have someone to... Enjoy your Christmas dinner, Sir.”

Sulu collected his fork and plate of tousled chicken and turned to hightail it out of there, a blush so fierce on his cheeks that he wished he was wearing green so he could blend into the decor. 

Chekov walked away from the grumpy doctor in search of any other willing bet-takers and bumped into Janice Rand. “Oof!” 

“There you are, Mister,” she said. Janice Rand was quite likely one of the only crewmen on board who Chekov was a tiny bit afraid of. She was so stern and commanding. “I’ve heard about your little betting game from three different people. You should be ashamed of yourself!” Janice did not hit him upside the head, but he almost felt like she had, his face turning red and his mouth a little dry from sheepishness.

“It is not just me, Sulu is doing it too!” Chekov tried, but before the words were even out of his mouth he knew by the look on her face (the pursed lips, the head turned slightly to the side, but the eye contact never wavering) that he wasn’t going to be able to pin this on someone else.

“I don’t care if you have half of engineering involved, it’s not for other people to speculate on our commanding officer’s relationship. Now why don’t you run along and find Sulu and put this whole thing away,” she said, hands on her hips, torso angled towards the blushing Russian. 

“Aye, sir,” Chekov said and gave her a stiff a salute. 

Rand gave him one last look and turned away, off towards the Christmas Bough, which was where he’d last caught sight of his Captain and the Commander, though neither were anywhere to be seen now. If he wasn’t so terrified of and in love with Janice Rand he might try and figure out where they’d gone off to, but he’d wait a little while, and try after Janice left the party.

Sulu couldn’t blend into the background, but he figured he could find somewhere to hide from Chekov and eat his fried chicken in peace. There was an office and a conference room with a table both attached to the large event room. The conference room was full of people eating and laughing and Sulu didn’t feel up to squishing in between all those happy folks, celebrating their individual winter holidays with friends. 

Sulu walked over towards the office instead, sneaking behind the buffet table and hopefully out of sight of the Russian. Maybe if he could eat something he could get rid of the guilty toil of his stomach. 

Unlikely.

Opening the door at the front of the room, angled away from the rest of the party, Sulu’s air-prone chicken finally made the jump and landed on the floor with a splat. In front of his very own eyes, his Captain was giggling, sitting on the floor and giggling, leaning unsteadily back on his hands, legs splayed out in front of him. But that wasn’t the most shocking part, oh no… 

His first officer, his _Vulcan_ first officer, his _very flushed Vulcan first officer,_ was straddling his Captain’s lap, his _giggling_ Captain’s lap, and trying to find a way into his shirt. Or his pants? Oh god, what were his hands actually doing? Oh, okay, they were just trying to take off the button-down plaid around shirt… Oh god, what was Sulu doing still looking?

Before Sulu could slam the door shut, he had the time to notice neither of them had seen him, as it seemed they were both drunk off their asses. Sulu slowly inched the door shut, not able to peel his eyes away as Spock’s left hand reached towards the Captain’s, two fingers outstretched, and Spock’s head bent forward and the giggling was still there but now it was in between eager kisses and _oh god shut the door right now._

Chekov slinks his way over to where Bones and Scotty are sitting comfortably, empty plates of food on the side table between them, rocks glasses full of whisky and silence settled easy around them. 

“Last chance for bets, gentlemen,” Chekov says, sitting with a huff in the last of the three cozy armchairs. Bones rolls his eyes and the engineer pipes up with interest. 

“What’s this all about?” Scotty looks between Bones and the Russian. The latter stares back for a second, before leaning forward.

“Sulu did not tell you?”

“Oh, here we go,” Bones gruffs. He knocks back the glass of liquid gold and pours himself another.

“I am sinking zat our COs are being involved in intimacy, yes?” Chekov says, and his eyebrows go up at the end of his question as if his own features are surprised by what’s coming out of his mouth.

Bones shakes his head and knocks back the second glass. If only he could drink away the memories of Jim and Spock’s little flirting interactions when they think no one notices. Bones hears Scotty’s gulp before he turns to look at his face. His eyes are cast down, staring at something unpleasant in his mind’s eye, a haunted and sheepish expression.

“Aye, lad, I don’t think there’s any question when you’ve seen what my eyes have,” he says slowly. Bones pours a little more Scotch Whisky into Scotty’s glass and refills his own. 

“I’ll drink to that,” Bones says, and knocks back his third drink in the last fifteen minutes.

Sulu ambled over to where Chekov sat with McCoy and Mr. Scott. The former was pouring Chekov a drink, and when Sulu reached them, he perched on the edge of the navigator's chair and stole his drink from his hands. 

“_Prekrati_!” But Sulu downed it before Chekov could grab it back.

“You don’t look so good, Mr. Sulu,” the doctor says, and Sulu thinks it must be true. “Like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“I wish that’s what I just saw. Would have been less haunting than walking in on…” _gulp._

“Aye lad, have another drink,” Scotty said, an understanding note in his voice, leaning forward with a near-empty bottle to fill up the so recently emptied glass.

“Vhat, Hikaru? Vhat have you just walked in on?” Chekov asked, drink forgotten and leaning up to try and get a better look at his friend. Sulu swirls the amber liquid around in his glass, seeing those horrifying hands and hearing the giggling, over and over. “Hikaru? What did you see?” 

Before knocking back the whisky, Sulu turns to the Russian and says, “I owe you 50 credits, and you owe me a new Christmas.”

Bones and Scotty raise their glasses and they finish off the last of the Scottish Whisky.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I started this last year for Christmas, and felt like writing some cute K/S this week so I finished it up. 
> 
> I don't really have a beta, so I tried to do my best to look through and catch things, but if anyone sees anything they think I could improve on don't hesitate to offer some constructive criticism! I'm a baby writer and still learning!
> 
> My email is thisisakford@gmail.com if you want to chat about KiScon or just want a fandom friend totally email me!
> 
> Also, sorry for the weird spaces, the grammar editor I use does that :/
> 
> Happy Holidays in August! :)


End file.
